


You Own Me

by goldengan



Category: Break the Chains - Reis Asher, Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Break the Chains AU, Crossover, Human AU, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Slavery, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldengan/pseuds/goldengan
Summary: And, hey, Hank doesn’t have much going on. And, yeah, he certainly doesn’t have a whole lot of money to be turning down the mere possibly of free food, even if it is just coffee and stale off brand cookies. Frees free, after all. This Elijah guy is harmless, most like.How little he knew.~Hank meets Connor once again in less than ideal circumstances. He has to help him.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	You Own Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reis_Asher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/gifts).



> *Please read the tags! If any part of this is not comfortable for you, then do not read.*
> 
> This fic is a gift to one of my favorite fic authors, and authors in general, [Reis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher)! He wrote Break the Chains and ever since I read the book I've been thinking... what if Hankcon? Reis Appreciation Week is in full swing on twitter! You should go take a look [here](https://twitter.com/hashtag/ReisAppreciationWeek?src=hashtag_click) to see more!

First rule? Don’t get distracted. Even if the barista, even though she’s gotta be half your age, is making goo-goo eyes at you. Whatever, she’s most likely gunning for a tip. Probably doesn’t get paid enough to deal with the types that tend to frequent here. He tips what he can, which isn’t much more than normal but she seems happy so no harm done. 

Second rule? Or, fuck, maybe it’s part of the first – Hank’s never had to write these down, after all. You can’t act as if you’re watching someone but yet, at the same time, you need to know exactly what they’re up to. It’s a fine line that’s easy to cross and equally as easy to miss entirely. Hank’s gotta admit, though, life has been much easier now that he’s an old man. It’s got its perks. People give him the senior discount even though he’s about ten years… okay maybe five… years before he’s at that official sixty. And people barely pay him mind, even though he is still about six foot six. Well, probably not six foot six anymore, what with his age and whatever. 

When the mark doesn’t show up? If you’re a shit person, like most of the PI’s he knows, you’ll bill for time spend anyway. Hank’s never felt right about that, honestly. 

He’s pulling out his laptop, wanting to look over the files Mrs. James sent on her probably cheating husband, before he heads back home. The coffee shop is bustling, it’s that time of year that’s technically autumn but it’s not nearly as cold as it will be, and he’s distracted. Usually that’s not much of a problem when he’s not on the job. In this case? Maybe if he paid a bit more attention he wouldn’t have been roped into what this fuck of a man got him into. Hindsight is always 20/20, though. 

Hank’s too tall to share this tiny café table with anyone, his knees are practically on the other side of the fucking thing, but a man sits with him anyway. This strangely dressed thirty-something guy with an uncanny smile and a very pale complexion doesn’t seem to care at all. Big clue that he’s at least a weirdo. He’s single-minded in his practically one-sided conversation with Hank and he’s not sure why yet. What’s this guys angle? What’s he selling?

This Elijah Kamski guy has a way of pulling you into his bullshit and making it make sense. He’s invited Hank to go to a party and Hank assumes this is where the final sale of a timeshare would be or something equally as stupid. And, hey, Hank doesn’t have much going on. And, yeah, he certainly doesn’t have a whole lot of money to be turning down the mere possibly of free food, even if it is just coffee and stale off brand cookies. Frees free, after all. This Elijah guy is harmless, most like. 

How little he knew.

When Hank’s piled into a limousine outside his house to wherever the fuck they were going? At like eight pm? Dark as pitch already? The man seemed at least eccentric. He says something about “this is what we agreed upon” or whatever when Hank knows damn well he agreed to absolutely nothing. 

When Elijah casually, and seemingly out of the blue, drops the word “slave” into their conversation and Hank laughs? The look on Elijah’s face now… Hank assumed he’d been roped into a BDSM something or other, fuck wouldn’t be the first time, and was gonna deny that situation gently. Hah, well.

Kamski seemed impressed by your behavior before, but now, with that misstep? Elijah knows Hank’s not the man he thought. He quirks a thin, manicured eyebrow up at Hank, “I am not entirely sure why you agreed to go with a complete stranger, Hank.” Yeah, Hank’s thinking that himself. “But I’ll let that slide. I need something from you. And,” the limo pulls to a stop, the darkness of night and the tinted windows means Hank has no idea what opening the car door will bring, “you _will_ do this for me. No matter what you think, no matter your morals, I simply do not care.”

Maybe if Hank still had a family he’d care about himself a little more, look out for himself a little better. Instead as he’s exiting the limo, Hank can’t help but notice all the people around, climbing up the ornate steps of a stately mansion to their destination of whatever the hell was inside. Hank doesn’t remember that word he laughed at not moments ago, maybe because this whole situation was just too weird for a normal-ish guy to handle. 

So when he walks into the grand entry way of this huge, opulent place? That word comes to mind again, loud and blaring and sinking into his limbs like lead. And, fuck, they just walked in here? Did the cars stop somewhere to get checked? How could something as awful as this be in plain sight?

Hank has no idea what face he’s making as he gawks at the goings-on around him. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, as absolutely no one is paying him any attention. Except for Kamski, obviously. “Everything must go, Hank,” now Hank hears his name being said like an insult, fuck maybe it was this whole time? “I’ll pay for whoever you want. I’ll even hold onto them, if need be.” The echo in this place… the rowdiness of the other obviously rich fucks like Kamski… Hank could barely hear what the fuck was saying.

But, even as short as Kamski was in comparison, his words reached Hank. And now his brain is trying to catch up to what’s going on around him. Because. Because? This… this can’t be possible. Back a few decades ago people meme’d about this shit. Hank always figured there was either some grain of truth to it or it was outright true, but he also figured he’d never know for sure. But he fucking stumbled ass first into this mess with no bearings whatsoever. Elijah wasn’t helping, saying shit like that.

Hank turns to him, no doubt Elijah can tell he’s raring to shout at him, so the fucker places a hand on Hank’s chest, “I wouldn’t do that here, Hank.” An unsavory smile curls at the corners of his lips, his too-white teeth might as well be pearls in his mouth with how gaudy they are, “You have absolutely no idea what you’re messing with.”

Problem was Hank wasn’t messing with shit. It’s not as if he _meant_ to infiltrate this terrible place, or even any of the people in it. But he’s here now so maybe… maybe he can save someone. Maybe someone _s_. Maybe he can get to the bottom of whatever the duck is going on and stop it.

Throughout these thoughts, his feet carried him around the mansion. There’s a lot corded off and it seems to be for, ugh, _testing_ the _product_. But the places he can go are still awful enough. He watches these depraved rich fucks poke their noses and arms through literal bars of cages at the people inside. It’s in front of these “viewing” areas that are the loudest. He can’t make out specific words, not that he really wants to, but the looks on the… slaves… faces? Their eyes telegraph that they know this is just the beginning, but what’s happening now is the worse part so far. They’re being pawed, groped, clawed at by the most disturbingly depraved individuals known to humankind.

What’s worse? Hank can’t pretend what these people are wearing, revealing clothing that is somehow more provocative than just being nude, isn’t fucking with his hindbrain. Especially considering whatever… fuck. Whatever drugs they’ve pumped through these people have made them all glassy-eyed and, well, aroused despite their circumstances. These people in the front seem to be the “newest” additions, the kinds of people that are not only conventionally attractive but definitely a few years from the drinking age.

At this point, where his body is reacting despite the horrors he’s witnessing? Isn’t up front, no. His feet have carried him to the back. And it seems, given the nature of jabs that Hank can hear, this is where “oddities” are displayed. The old, the used up, and the… Hank blinks away his confusion at first. Most of these people look to be in their mid-twenties or thirties so he’s not sure why they’re back here. Trans people aren’t a usual facet in his life, as far as he knows anyway, so to see them here? Dressed and displayed as the “best” but shoved in the back with the “worst”? Especially given that there are more people back here than in the front?

There’s one man in particular, the only man in a group of women, that is being pawed at the most. He might be the “oddest” amongst the whole display of people. He’s on thinner side, pale with freckles, brown hair floppy due to it being pulled at, and he’s dressed like the women he’s surrounded by. Most likely to show off not only his differences but his similarities. The man is definitely high on some sort of aphrodisiac that makes them hard or, in this case, wet.

There’s a lot going through Hank’s mind at the sight of this man. One of the loudest is… he never expected to see anyone he recognized in a situation like this, either inside or outside the cages. The man is Cole’s teacher before… before. He _was_ Cole’s teacher. Hank can’t believe the varied emotions filtering through his body. The usual pain he tries to numb with booze, the anger that is heightened by said booze, and yet he can’t help but notice how attractive Mister Stern is. Jesus fuck, Hank might get sick. What a horrible… what kind of horrible person would—?

“Hank, I must say I really appreciate your taste. Should’ve known you’d be into something like this.” Something... not someone. Hank didn’t know he could feel sicker than this. “You can have it if you want.”

Hank wanted so badly to help all of these people. But who in the world would believe him? He could still barely believe this himself! But if he could help one… and maybe that was a stupid thought, the same caliber of stupid that brought him here in the first place, but maybe that’s all he needed. That might be the only difference between himself and the others outside of the cages. He’d cling to that if he had to. He needs to.

“I’ll tell you what, my man, you don’t even have to share!” He laughs, Hank hasn’t said anything still. He certainly doesn’t feel like laughing. “It would be nice, of course, but I can always get one of my own.” Hank isn’t sure if there’s something amiss with Elijah or if all insanely rich people have no understanding of social queues. Could go either way at this point. 

In no time at all, barely any preamble, Elijah waves his hand points to Stern and a few others, they bring over a paper or two for him to sign, and they… box them up. Into crates. “Don’t worry, I don’t live far from here. The air holes will be enough in this case.” Whatever the hell that means, Hank doesn’t wanna know, especially as Elijah sounds as that is knowledge from experience. 

Hank is in a daze being driven to Elijah’s estate as Elijah has become “impatient” and took one woman from her box. She’s gorgeous, of that there is no doubt. She’s blonde, thin, perky breasts and rounded hips, with a small soft cock between her legs. Whatever clothing they were wearing was given back to the original owners, it seems. So now they’re all naked as newborns. Elijah’s pawing and mouthing at her, not caring in the least that she doesn’t want or like it. She’s crying, not looking at either Hank nor Elijah, and Hank musters everything inside of him to not throw up.

Once at his estate, which Elijah was right, took no time at all, Hank was directed to a room to wait. The “room” looked like its own studio apartment. Why in the world Elijah had such a… Hank blinked. Would Stern be kept _here_? Is this what Elijah does?

Elijah walks in and answers the questions Hank never voiced aloud, “You’re gonna try him out, just in case you don’t like him. Of which I am more than happy to take off your hands.” 

Stern is brought into the room, his legs are wobbly and he finally looks at Hank… the look on his face Hank looks sick. He definitely recognizes him. 

“Well,” Elijah sighs, eyes darting between Hank and Stern, “seems you’re shy.” He sounds extremely disappointed, “So I’ll leave you to it. Fuck him and you can take him with you. I’ll check to see if you did.” Kamski, that sick bastard, grabs at the one part of Stern’s body Hank wouldn’t touch upon just meeting someone, leaving Stern to groan and pull away.

And then, with the click of the door, they’re alone.

“Why did you…?” Stern looks like he might throw up and, well, Hank beats him to it.

He runs to the kitchenette and vomits in the sink. When Hank’s running water down the drain, he can’t help but look up, the man is staring at him now perplexed on top of everything else. 

“It’s… it’s a long story. And, fuck, I dunno if it even makes any sense.”

Stern sits on the edge of the couch, covering himself with a throw pillow, eyes wide and watery and never leaving Hank.

“I swear I didn’t … I didn’t try and find you or do this but... I can sure as shit see how it looks like it. No it’s… Elijah thought I was someone else, he told me to come, and when I did I…” Hank turns away, this is the strangest thing he’s ever been a part of, and he’s got no clue how to get Stern out of this. He can’t just… no there’s no way. He’d never. “I wanna help you, though. I didn’t know what I was getting into, I wanna—”

Stern makes a noise, startling Hank to look at him once more. The man is staring intently just above Hank so he turns and, “Oh, that sick fuck.”

“If you are… If you do want to help me.”

Hank stands, not excided in the least to hear what he’s no doubt about to say.

“Do what you need to, Mister Anderson.”

Hank winces, “How about we… It’s…” Stupid, probably, given everything. “I’m Hank. And you are…?”

Stern blinks, this seems to settle him for some reason, maybe he’s beginning to believe that Hank didn’t know what the fuck he was getting into, “Connor.”

They stare at each other, it’s the first time Hank’s ever let himself stare at Cole’s teacher. Or, well, Connor. Hank’s always been attracted to him, always thought Connor was not only gorgeous but smart and patient and so good with his students, but it still feels like another life Hank’s looking into. Whatever led Connor here? Well, Cole’s been… gone… for years. So much could’ve happened to bring Connor to this very moment. Connor is certainly staring back, not as if there’s much else to do in this moment. It’s not as if Hank’s anything to look at. That thought shakes him from his stupor which leads Connor to stand.

Hank looks away, his face red at how quickly he looked down at Connor’s body. God, what a horrible fuck he was. “I’m gonna, I need to,” he points towards the hallway. Hopefully there’s a bathroom in this hell of a place, and even better would be a damned tooth brush. “Do you wanna clean up, not that you need to, just if you wanted—”

“I’ll do that once we get,” Connor chuckles miserably, “Wherever it is you’re taking me.”

Hank nods and goes off to fix his mouth. It’s the very least he can do for Connor in this situation. He doesn’t want to linger and shower, but that doesn’t mean he’s not gonna freshen up down there for… Jesus fuck this isn’t a date. Not that he thinks it is one. He’s just trying to insert what little humanity he can into this situation, okay? Hank shudders as he finishes his little routine, ready now to go and fuck Connor. 

Jesus.

He’s not in the central room, which leads Hank to believe there must be a bedroom nearby. Sure enough, it’s been just out of his sight but perfectly in line to where Connor was situated. 

Hank steps into the room and is immediately greeted by Connor laid out on the bed. He looks as if he’s trying to be enticing and it works enough to get Hank going, ugh God this was a nightmare. His dick is liable to fall off with how quickly it’s shot up. “Jesus, um, you don’t have to.” 

Connor blinks, sets himself on his elbows, his back on the bed, “Do you need me to help you?” Hank doesn’t miss that implication at all. 

“No, I’m. I’m there.” Despite everything. “I’ll try and make it quick.”

As Hank gets closer he sees Connor is still effected by whatever meds they gave him. His pupils are huge, the brown of his eyes nearly a sliver. His thighs are trembling and, nestled between said creamy white thighs, his pussy lips are puffy and wet. Fuck, maybe that’s not a good word to use. Well, he just won’t say it a out loud. Not as if he’s gonna make Connor fuck him after this, so it won’t come up anyway.

He unzips himself from his pants and that’s it. No need for Connor to see anything of him if he doesn’t have to. His eyes go wide at the sight, probably because he is so very hard. What else could it be?

Then he straddles Connor, looks down between his belly and Connor’s dripping and pulsing entrance, and he says, “Okay I’m just gonna…” 

Connor nods, “Yeah, yes. Please. Just.” He nods again, face red as he stares at Hank’s cock, “it’s okay.”

Hank knows he’s a bit much, usually people have a hard time wanting to sleep with him in general, so he takes it as slow as he’s able. Luckily Connor being so wet helps. Hank doesn’t expect anything from Connor, not anything more than how he saw the woman in the car behave with Elijah, and he honestly doesn’t think he needs the help, he hasn’t fucked anyone for years so that should be enough. But Connor starts panting, “It’s… oh god.” He throws his head back, neck corded.

“Is the,” Hank blinks, Connor’s walls are fluttering around him, “is it the drugs? Are you okay?”

“Fuck, Hank, just!” He’s nodding, his hands turning to fists around the comforter underneath them, “Please. Please please please.”

“Okay, yeah.” No use dragging this out then, “I’ll just.” And he slides all the way inside Connor.

He’s gasping, eyes wide, babbling all kinds of things. Hank’s brain is having trouble discerning whether this is an act or not. It might not be, but it’s definitely more to do with the drugs then—

“I’m sorry, Hank, I’m sorry it’s just I’ve always.” Connor’s arching off the bed as Hank is steadily moving in and out of him.

What’s he—? Why’s he sorry of all people? “You don’t need to be sorry, Con.”

“At least,” Connor moves, hands on Hank’s chest now, eyes focused on his, “at least it was you.”

Hank isn’t sure what that means right now. He’s grateful Connor’s being nice to him, but it also makes him feel awful. “Connor you don’t have to—”

“Please!” Connor’s begging, eyes wide and pleading, “I really need you. I need—”

Hank feels bad enough, spares no time quickening his pace. He figured he’d need to close his eyes to not see Connor’s blank face, but he’s certainly not in that situation. Connor’s biting his pretty pink lips, his eyes are boring straight into Hank’s and it’s making his heart hurt and his dick pulse inside of him. 

Then, miraculously, Connor gasps, eyes wide, as he grips Hank’s cock with his silky hot walls. There’s no faking that and, for just long enough, Hank falls into it. Falls into pretending that this was a wanted affair. Connor cornering him after a PTA meeting, taking him to his car where he straddles Hank, beckoning him with those gorgeous brown eyes and pretty pink pussy. And Hank, in this make-believe instance, would take it. Just as he’s taking Connor now. 

“Jesus, Connor, you feel so incredible.” That what he hopes he says, he isn’t exactly sure, because his brain has gone to blinding white. Connor’s body is doing everything to keep Hank in that middle space before falling completely over. His fingers are gripping Hank’s shirt, bringing them nose to nose now so Hank’s can _smell_ Connor. His breath, his body, his everything, how is this man, in this situation, making Hank feel so incredible?

But then reality slips in. Hank doesn’t recognize this bed as his own, or even a motels as he’s not at one. Neither of them are in this situation of their own free will. That slams into Hank like a fucking freight train. 

He didn’t know he could feel more awful about this situation.

When Hank pulls out, Connor whimpers.

Hank stands, tucking himself away again, and offers a hand to Connor. “I know we just. And you’re.” He sighs, “But it’s better if we get this over with.”

Connor nods, his face is still red and he’s not looking at Hank. He wonders if he ever will again. He understands if he doesn’t.

“Well well well!” Elijah looks overjoyed to see them, “You look as if you had a good time.” He’s not looking at Connor at all. That is until he does exactly what he said. He grabs Connor by the pussy, literally, shoving fingers inside of him. Elijah laughs as he pulls them out, “I thought you weren’t up to it, old man.” He moves his hand in front of the woman before, the blonde, still naked but now she looks mentally beaten down, and she takes the fingers without question. 

“If you give her anything, Hank,” Elijah smiles that disgusting smile again, “Well I know where you live.” He pats Connor on the ass and says, “Have fun!” Which leads Elijah’s men to bring them home.

Now they were in an unassuming sedan, a bit too close for comfort than the spaciousness of the limo. Hank wished he wasn’t so fucking broad and tall, he feels awful sharing this tight space with Connor. 

Hank’s mind goes in circles as the car drives them back to his home. Apparently it took about an hour, least that’s what the driver said. As if Hank knew what time they left to begin with. Could’ve been the next day for all Hank knew.

Sure as shit, they’re outside Hank’s house and, fuck, how’s Connor gonna get inside? “Can I go grab him clothes so—”

“There’s a robe in the seat pocket,” the driver interrupts, sounding as if he’s dealt with this many times. It’s a… slip of a thing. But it’s better than nothing. At least that seems to be Connor’s opinion, who takes it without question and opens the car door to land barefoot on the craggy sidewalk.

Now they’re in the house together. The place isn’t in it’s best state, not by a long shot. It’s falling apart, trash bags are piled everywhere and Connor, well, he doesn’t seem to be taking any of this in. “Where’s your bathroom.” It’s not really a question, he sounds beaten down. 

“Yeah! Follow me and I’ll bring you some clothes. They’re not gonna fit but we’ll figure out something better later.”

It’s when Connor’s turned the shower on that Hank’s mind wonders again.

What the fuck is he going to do now? How is he going to explain a whole other person to his nosy ass landlord Fowler? Hank can barely feed himself by the end of most months, how the fuck is that gonna work out with Connor around?

Hank doesn’t register the shower stopping, the doors opening and closing, but he does register a kiss on his cheek. Hank startles, he’s worried Connor thinks that’s what he has to do. He’s worried Connor doesn’t understand that he’ll never touch him again. He’s worried about how much his heart was racing at the kiss.

“It’s… I owe you.” Connor sits next to Hank on his ratty sofa, looking even thinner in Hank’s huge clothes, and his face is red. From the heat of the shower, Hank supplies.

Eventually Connor’s words finally reach Hank’s brain and he’s immediately upset, “No you don’t Con, you don’t owe me shit.”

“I guess you’re right.” Connor leans back on the couch, looking like he’s trying to get comfortable but not finding much luck before saying, “You own me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to check out more of [Reis Appreciation Week](https://twitter.com/hashtag/ReisAppreciationWeek?src=hashtag_click) on twitter and [Reis' fics here on ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher)!


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